


The Art of Confessions

by SwiftEmera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack-ish, Homophobic ghosts, Humour, M/M, Not much hunting goes on, Romance, Sexual themes (non graphic), just putting that out there, motw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates not having anything to do, which is why he could have kissed Cas (you know, in a totally platonic way) when he appeared with news of a possible case not too far from the bunker, even if it's just a simple salt and burn. The drawback? The ghost just might reveal something that Dean's not ready to disclose to his brother, and least of all the angel that it concerns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Confessions

The only thing worse than a bad case was no case at all.  
    
Dean scowled at Sam, who was perched on the sofa across from him doing god knows what on his laptop with detached interest, as though it was all his fault. In all honesty, though, it had been a pretty slow month overall. Nothing more than your typical salt and burn cases, which were cleared up within the day.  
  
So it was understandable, really, why Dean felt his heart flutter at the appearance of a certain angel of the lord in the bunker.   
  
"I believe I may have a case," Cas told them without preamble.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow, watching as the angel made his way across the floor, perching on the arm of the sofa next to Sam.   
  
He ignored the irrational stab of jealousy over Cas's seating choice, choosing to chalk it down to the fact that Cas was his friend first, god dammit, and he should want to sit next to Dean. There was plenty of room on his sofa, after all.  
  
He really didn't want to think about how pathetic that made him.

"Dean?" Cas was watching him closely now, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Wha- uh, yeah. Just spaced out for a second." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he decided to steer the conversation back on track. "You,uh- you said you have a case?"  
  
"I believe so, yes," the angel's expression shifted back to business mode, straightening his back. "There has been talk of a high number of deaths just outside of Kansas City, in a town called Belmead."  
  
"That's awes-" Dean started, before noticing the glares from the other two occupants of the room. "Uhm. Awful. That's awful."  
  
Sam snorted, giving Cas a friendly pat on the back. "Don't mind him - we've been cooped up for days and he's going a little stir crazy. So, these deaths - anything to go on? Patterns? Markings?" He prompted.  
  
"Yes," Castiel replied, watching Dean carefully with an odd, apprehensive look. "Yes, there's a pattern."  
  
-  
  
The air in the car felt a little awkward between himself and the angel. If Dean were to be honest with himself, though, this hunt was so far out of his comfort range that he'd almost considered opting out.  
  
Almost. He's not a complete dick, after all.  
  
"A homophobic ghost, huh?" Sam asked after about an hour of awkward silence.   
  
Cas shot another uneasy look at Dean from the back seat, before turning to Sam. "Yes. Pastor Rory Flaine. Apparently he thinks that my father would be against same-sex coupling." The angel rolled his eyes, which was absolutely  _not_  adorable, no matter what Dean's brain was trying to tell him.   
  
Feigning disinterest, Dean kept his eyes trained on the road.   
  
"So he thinks he's carrying out a service, huh? Well, I guess it's just a simple case of salt and burn," Sam replied, drumming his fingers on the dashboard absently, which was irritating the hell out of Dean.  
  
"Stop that!" Dean snapped, causing his brother and hi... the angel to flinch at the sudden outburst. "Just. Stop. You'll ruin my baby.,  he clarified stubbornly.  
  
"What the  _hell_  is your problem, Dean?" Sam shot back, raising his voice. "You've been nothing but grumpy and mopey since we left the bunker. I'd have thought you, most of all, would have been happy to finally have a case that we could deal with. You'd think you'd be able to get over your own  _personal issues_  enough to deal with it."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean, Sam?" Dean snarled, turning to his brother.  
  
"Dean, I believe the protocol for driving requires you to be watching the road at all times." 

"Can it, Cas," Dean grumbled, but turned back to look at the road all the same.

A few minutes passed, and Dean had figured the conversation had been dropped until Sam opened his stupid mouth again. "It's just - Dean, whenever issues of same sex orientations come up, you get really fucking weird about it."

"No I don't," the older hunter growled, clenching the wheel tight.

Although he wasn't looking at his brother anymore, he could practically  _hear_  Sam rolling his eyes. “Sure, Dean. Whatever you say.”

Instead of replying, Dean cranked up the volume of the music – Battery by Metallica blasting from the stereo. If that meant that Sam couldn't continue the conversation, well, that was just the cherry on top.

-

It was pretty late in the evening when they finally pulled up to the cheapest motel that they could find in Belmead, and Dean was shifting in his seat, his legs beginning to cramp from the three hour drive. Damn, when did his body start getting so weak? He used to be able to drive for sixteen hours straight without complaint, and now his bones were crying out for help with three hours.  

He must be getting old.

After negotiating with the woman at the front desk, who had positively scowled at them suspiciously before handing them the room keys, they made their way to room 211.

“I don't understand the numbering of these rooms,” Castiel muttered, following Sam and Dean through the door. “The hotel is on two levels. We are on the first level, and there definitely aren't over two hundred rooms in this building – it's physically impossible. The room numbers are highly illogical.”

Dean chuckled fondly, patting Cas softly on the back, as the angel turned towards him and flashed a somewhat perplexed smile.

Once they got settled, Sam sprawled out on one of the beds and Dean sitting next to Cas on the other, Sam pulled his laptop over his legs and began to type furiously into the search engine.

“So get this,” he announced after a few minutes of silence. “Apparently our guy was quite well known and respected about these parts. It's really weird, though. There's absolutely no mention of him being against gay people  _at all_. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the fact that he chose only queer victims was a sheer coincidence. Dude just knew how to hide it.” 

“No such thing as a coincidence, Sam,” grumbled Dean from the next bed, arms folded.

Cas shifted beside the hunter, pulling himself up from the bed to read the screen over Sam's shoulder. “Still, I get the feeling that we're missing something.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Dean grumbled.

Sam scowled at his brother, rising from the bed the bed to grab his coat. “I'm going to go find somewhere that does 24-7 take out,” he spoke pointedly only to Cas. “Maybe some food will make this one calm the fuck down,” he jerked a thumb at Dean.

“Fuck you too, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Dean and Castiel in the room alone.

Now, Dean knew exactly what his problem with this case was. He wasn't a  _complete_  moron. No, his problem was currently sitting on Sam's bed, scrolling absently on his brother's laptop and trying to find some more information about their case. The case where some religious asshole was killing people for having feelings for people of the same sex as themselves.

Although, the more Dean really thought about it, technically Castiel wasn't male. He wasn't female either, though, and Dean wouldn't have him any other fucking way, thank you very much. For all intents and purposes, Castiel was a man.

Dean had accepted that part of himself a long time ago – the small part that was attracted to the same gender as himself – but it didn't mean he wanted to discuss it with Sam, and he sure as shit didn't want his best finding out about Dean's feelings for him – so he'd kept his trap shut, hoping it would never come up. But now, here they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Dean was about to be outed by a fucking ghost, wasn't he?

As his brother had rightfully pointed out, though, people were dying. His own personal issues be damned, he really needed to stay put sort this shit out, no matter how much he felt like running for the hills.

He cleared his throat, turning to the angel. “So, uh, any idea where this thing is picking up its victims, Cas?”

“It appears to be fairly random. I don't think it matters, Dean. But I can't make sense of it – all the victims were couples, by the looks of these articles. It seems to be spurred on by mutual attraction.” He glanced back at the hunter, a soft frown on his face. “We need to find a couple who are in love to lure it in.”

Well, shit. There goes his plan. No point in coming out the closet if the guy's bread and butter was mutual attraction.

“If it were only after a single person, I feel that I would be able to serve as adequate bait,” the angel continued, eyes piercing Dean's.

Dean was a little lost in the blue of Castiel's eyes that it took him a few seconds to register the sentence that just poured from the angel's mouth. He jolted up, springing himself onto the edge of the bed, eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

Castiel sighed. “Dean, surely by now  you know how I feel about you – you can stop pretending for my sake. I know that you're uncomfortable, and I'm sorry. I can- if it makes it easier for you, I can leave.” The angel rose from the bed, not even waiting on Dean to reply, making a move towards the door.

“Whoa, wait, Cas, hold up,” Dean practically flew off the bed to grasp onto Castiel's shoulder, in attempt to stop him from moving any further (not that it would make any difference considering Cas had the strength of heaven backing him up, but the gesture seemed to stop him nonetheless). “You wanna explain that a little more, buddy?”

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“How about we start with the part where you said that you had feelings for me? What do you mean exactly, Cas?” The hunter asked, voice soft, watching Castiel's eyes as they darted towards the door, before returning to Dean with trepidation. “Cas? What did you mean?”  Dean prompted again, when no attempt at a reply had been made.

“I- I thought you knew, Dean.”

The look on Castiel's face was one of absolute anguish, as though he expect Dean to throw him out on the street and never speak to him again, and it broke Dean's heart to even imagine Cas thinking that of him. Still, he had to be sure. “Cas?”

“I love you, Dean. I'm in love with you.” He was positively glaring at the dirty motel carpet now, shuffling his feet. “I thought you knew that,” he repeated with a small voice. “I'm sorry.”

Dean snorted, causing the angel's head to snap up to meet his eyes. Clearly that wasn't the reaction that Cas had been expecting, but he really couldn't help himself. “I'm sorry too.”

That had the angel perplexed. “What do you- mphhh-!” Castiel's sentence broke off as Dean pulled him into him, pressing their mouths together hungrily, hands trailing from where they framed the angel's face up to his hair, grasping on gently, pulling his head back a little to expose Castiel's neck. “Dean- ah, Dean!” the angel groaned, pupils blown.

Dean didn't reply straight away – just moved his lips over the angel's neckline, suckling on it gently, taking extra care not to leave marks. He wasn't exactly planning on keeping this secret from Sam, but his little brother didn't need to know precisely what he and Castiel were getting up to.

-

When Sam returned back to the motel, take-out bags in hand, the noises that he could hear from outside the door gave him pause. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that his brother and Castiel were-

“Oohhh, Dean,” Cas's voice groaned wantonly, a loud thump echoing from inside.

“Cas, baby, don't stop- I'm gonna- I-”

Sam scurried away from the door, eyes practically bursting out his skull. Brain bleach. Where was the brain bleach when he needed it?  _Fuck_.

-

It turned out that the ghost didn't even get the chance to go after Dean and Castiel. Thanks to the help of a few locals, they managed to locate Pastor Rory's grave, it was a quick salt and burn job, then the three men were on their way back to the bunker.  

A little anti-climactic, really, but Dean couldn't really complain as he drove the route home, the fingers of his free hand laced into Castiel's when he didn't need it to change gears.

“I called shotgun for life, Dean.” Sam whined from the back seat. “I don't care how many orgasms Cas gives you from now on, that seat is  _mine_.”

Dean chortled and shook his head, glancing back at his brother. “You wouldn't be saying that if you knew exactly what we did on that seat last night while you were sleeping in the motel room.”

Truthfully, all the action had taken place in the back seat where Sam was currently sitting, but the moose didn't need to know that. The look of abject horror on his brother's face was entirely worth it, and even Castiel stifled a soft chuckle, earning the angel a glare from Sam. “Don't encourage him.”

“Hey, he's my angel. He takes my side, right Cas?” Dean winked, grinning at the man beside him.

“Shut up, Dean. Keep your eye on the road.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Whipped already, huh Dean?” Sam teased from the back seat.

“Shut up, Sam.” the couple replied in unison.

  
  



End file.
